


The Collector of Leaves

by hermesthewayfinder



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, Flowers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Poetry, Prose Poem, Sad Louis, but also a story, hopeful, i guess, just poetic, larry stylinson - Freeform, learning how to live again, lots of flower names involved, louis just loves leaves a lot, quite philosophical, quite sad but there's also a sense of hope and i think that is important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermesthewayfinder/pseuds/hermesthewayfinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There are some days Louis can’t breathe</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Louis sees life in the leaves around him, feels sadness cling onto him too heavily sometimes, and tries to understand the way that Harry embodies the art of existing with the most breathtaking beauty he has ever witnessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Collector of Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of suicide and mental instability in this, although it is written in a subtle and poetic manner I would still advise any of those who do not feel comfortable with these concepts to not read the following story. 
> 
> Thank you

There are some days Louis can’t breathe. 

And maybe that’s because he holds his breath long enough to leave bruises on the inside of his lungs, long enough to compress his diaphragm into one, thin insignificant line as he struggles against the bed sheets, as he thrashes out against an invisible force suffocating him, _this weight, this thickening weight crushing him down, deeper and deeper into the mattress—_.

His mind plays with the words on the pages of a book as he clings onto something to keep him rooted, but this sadness is not a feeling anymore, it is an ocean, a tide washing over his body, dampening his skin, entering his pores, clinging onto every surface of his skin as he tries to stay conscious in his very own head and it’s moments like these where he remembers that people do not bother teaching you the important things, like how to shut your mind off when it's threatening to erase your entire being with a single thought, or how to look at someone without feeling like their eyes are burning blisters into your skin, or how to not feel like the pavement will slip out from beneath you if you don’t walk fast enough, quiet enough, normal enough. 

There are some days Louis can’t see.

And maybe that’s because he clenches his eyelids shut as tight as he can, presses the heel of his hand into his eyes and watches as galaxies rain down from a blackness that is only comforting to the people who seek the bliss of nothingness. 

Louis lies down in bed with a dull throb in his head and a hot puddle beneath his eyes, and he wonder why people don't teach you how to stop looking at the finality of death as your star crossed lover. 

 

-

 

The atmosphere seems to be exhaling humidity as the clouds lie heavy over the city, and as Louis examines the myriad of hues upon the ground, he feels a cold drop slither down the back of his neck. Today, the park is empty except for a figure who can be seen bowing over countless of fallen leaves, carpeting the ground like a giant painting on a canvas. Louis picks up a single, red leaf, pointed and slender, and points it towards the sky, marvelling at the network of veins underneath the translucency of the epidermis. He watches intently as the leaf bobs up and down, the droplets of rain from the sky thudding upon its surface and making it sway in a lazy dance. 

He adds it to the small bundle of leaves he has already collected, and turns back to look at the ground except something is different now. He sees his shoes, sodden and muddy, and in front of them he sees another pair of shoes (boots to be more precise), light brown and torn at the edges. Before Louis can completely comprehend what the meaning of these extra pair of feet means he hears a throat being cleared and a voice projecting itself into the loud background noise of falling water. 

“It's pouring! What are you doing out here?”

Louis nearly jumps out of his skin as he feels his pulse threaten to burst out of his veins. He hurriedly takes a step back, and in his haste to get away unnoticed by the presence of another life, he misplaces his foot and ends up slipping onto his back, the bundle of leaves exploding like confetti strips around him, drifting down slowly as gravity pushes them onto the surface of the world. 

Louis feels the flutter of red, yellow, green, purple leaves on his burning skin, his constricting lungs, his fluttering fingers as he grapples at some of them, some of which are still cascading around him in mockery of his actions.

“Are you all right?” 

The voice sends Louis into a new level of frenzy as he pushes himself away from the source of noise with his hands, feeling his fingers sluice through water as he tries to get a good grip on something, anything, again. 

His eyes widen slightly as he sees something resembling an arm reaching down for him, as if to help him up. 

“Oh, no thank you, it’s—“

He pushes up with the hand that’s not grasping onto the now drooping leaves, and Louis is once again on his feet, placing one foot behind the other but not before he catches a glimpse of the blurred figure. 

Louis feels his shallow breathing against where his hand is resting on his chest, the rise and the fall of a chaos which stirs deep within and his throat constricts around the words he does not want to speak at all, he just wants to go right now without marking his existence on any other form of life because he does not have the right to stain somebody else’s being with his flaws—

“Hey, is everything all right? ”

The figure steps closer, his image clearing as he steps through the blur of the rain. Louis’ eyes fall onto curls the colour of bark stretching down onto broad shoulders like roots, a jutting nose with a drop of water hanging at the tip, a furrowed brow and eyes so green they could be part of the freshwater charophytes—

“It's okay, it’s all okay” 

Louis mumbles stepping back, watching as the silhouette of the boy becomes unclear and messy once again through the rain. 

Louis didn’t ask for this. He never asks for any of it. He never asks to be confronted with life at its most fascinating, he never asks for the exposure of his own dainty existence out in the open to be seen, to be looked upon from an upturned nose, to be analysed, to be experimented on, to be anything ever. 

Louis never asks, but he gets, he gets, he gets and he loathes every bit of it, every piece of life thrown at him, shining their significance in his face and his own life reflecting feebly in their brilliance and this person with his life clinging onto him with radiating force blinds him.

He stumbles once again, manages to steady himself and turns away, turns away to a startled remark, turns away from a reaching hand, and runs, runs through the rain that he did not see fall, runs through the fallen leaves that made his heart ache with all the life they've lost (all their stupid, stupid life), runs through the mud that squelches and talks in murmurs to the soles of his running feet as his eyes fill with acidic water, and salty water and freshwater falling from the heavens, falling from his eyes, falling from the lives resonating all around him. 

Louis runs. 

 

-

 

 

The leaves curl in on themselves, as if they couldn't bear exposing themselves to the humiliation of being crumpled and soggy and no longer beautiful. Louis stares, his nose at level with the surface of the table that the leaves are placed on and he reaches out to try to coax the leaves into laying flat. But to no avail, the leaves curl up on themselves every time he stretches his fingers over their surface, curl in on themselves like a spider does when it ceases to be alive and moving and creating shining webs, curl in on themselves like a lifeless form unaware that its sleep is eternal and full of nothingness—

Louis presses the inside of his wrist to his mouth as his body shakes with sobs, and as he lays his head on the ground, he is unaware of the way his own limbs fold over and of the way his back hunches in on itself. 

As darkness descends, there’s a form on the floor, and no one would be able to tell if this small shadow on the ground was simply resting, or if it were permanently lost to the consciousness of the world. 

 

-

 

 

Today the sun peeks through low hanging cirrus clouds as if it were timid of being fully exposed, and illuminates small points along the winding path as Louis makes his way towards a particularly interesting looking pile of leaves at the far corner of the park. Families gather around in small bunches underneath the branches of trees, laughing and telling stories to one another, and Louis tries to focus his attention on anything else but them. 

In his hand he has already collected a small bundle of leaves, and as he glances down at them he feels his body swell as he takes in their beauty; the blend of orange and red in one leaf, making it look as if it were on fire; one of the greenest leaves Louis has ever laid his eyes on outlined by a thin black line on the outer edge; a brown shrivelled up leaf which looked bolder than it looked delicate; a leaf which seemed to have been dipped in turquoise paint and which had made his breath catch in his throat at the sight of it. Louis was walking around with the four elements in the palm of his hand. 

He smiles at his little secret, and is about to walk faster towards his destination when he looks up and stops in his tracks. Little feet and little hands and little heads and little bodies drift through the piles of leaves, bobbing up and down between the mountains of fallen foliage and there is not a single molecule of air left to breathe when he sees the way the leaves are trampled, pushed further into the muddy earth, drowning in the place they are supposed to feel most at home. He stumbles towards them. The children take no notice of the boy, their cheers and shrieks of laughter sounding hellish as they stamp on all the withering life on the ground and Louis is not inhaling, no part of him is understanding the way they dance upon a form of existence as if it were inferior to them, these children unaware of the pain they’re inflicting on the helpless organisms and Louis almost falls the moment he sees one small boy with a checkered shirt and bright orange hair (almost like the colour of the leaf in his pocket but not quite) pick up a long, lean leaf in his slim fingers as he holds it close to his face and his eyes must be able to see what he’s about to do because he stretches his arms out in front of him one more time, takes the long (lovely, poor, beautiful, hopeless, precious, defenceless) leaf in both hands and rips it clean in half. 

Louis watches in slow motion as the seams holding the leaf together rip apart, almost like the undoing of the buttons of a shirt but with a much more palpable lust to be cruel on the part of the perpetrator. 

Louis is running now, towards the little boy. 

“Stop it! _Stop_ it!”

The boys turns, his mouth opening wide at the figure bounding towards him. He lets go of the leaf whilst keeping his brown eyes trained on the running man, and Louis is the one who witnesses the two parts of the leaf drift slowly onto the ground, lost of their wholeness forever more. 

Louis snatches the pieces up holding them in separate hands (which isn’t how it’s supposed to _be _) and before long his gaze falls back on the boy. From his peripheral vision he notices the small group of children have gathered around him, staring at him in frightened awe.__

He turns to face them with a murderous stare in his eyes.

“What - what do you think you’re doing? Why would you do something like this?” Louis stutters angrily, his eyes glaring at the boy who looks close to tears now. 

“You don’t understand anything! You don't understand _anything_ you senseless bastard—“

Louis is shouting now, the oxygen forcing itself down his throat again and he’s breathing it in as if he were taking a long drag out of a cigarette intent on killing the smoker. The sniffles he hears around him fuels his anger, the boy’s watery gaze and running nose caresses the satisfaction he feels in the pit of his stomach.

“— how _could_ you?"

Louis’ got his finger poking into the boys chest, noticing the way it makes the boy’s body sway back and then suddenly it’s all gone as he hears an uproar from somewhere and maybe it’s just in his head but he feels something solid and present on his shoulder, digging in as if whatever it belonged to is trying to root itself into his own body but he doesn’t have time to give it much thought because at that instant he feels his neck swing back as something collides with his face and he thought he knew it was coming but he didn't know why he thought that and he can't fucking breathe again because something is throbbing on his face and something is pulling at his shoulder and something is tugging at his conscience and something is dragging him over and out and his knees don’t feel solid and there and his body doesn't feel solid and there and he feels like he's mouthing words but he wouldn't know what he would mouth even if he was mouthing something and he feels himself be pulled away and he doesn't know why he’s got one of his eyes open, but he’s looking at the ground and at the leaves and they’re crying, he swears they are crying, and he feels something deep and boiling coil in his stomach because they look as if they are crying for him and some seem to be avoiding his gaze as if they were humiliated by him and something is tugging at his hands, something is wrapped around his fingers, something is so present right here, right now it hurts. 

 

-

He feels something solid dig into his back and he thinks it’s probably the world. Because it has been all the other times he has felt the presence of an immensity at the bottom of his feet, or under his hands as he sits on a feathery stretch of grass. He feels a presence around him and he feels it’s greatness caress his skin much more softly than one would expect something so big would be able to do. He opens his eyes, and as he does this, he seems to open everything else up as well.

“Come on, just a little bit further”

There’s a hand pressing into his back and Louis lets himself be steered by this unknown force as he registers a distant shouting. 

Nothing seems to happen as the places he is passing seem to blur together to form a myriad of hues, a chaotic movement that is standing still. Louis feels warmth in his eyes, and lets his head fall down onto his chest as he scrunches up his face, a failed attempt to block out whatever sort of reality this was. 

The world stops shifting beneath his feet and when he feels something press into his back again he falls against it, wishing to disappear into it and be enveloped by a suffocating falsity he would love to revel in. 

Somebody is saying things, and Louis manages to lift his head up and let it dangle to the left as he opens his eyes. 

Eyes as green as blades of grass stare back at him, eyes that should be matched with a smile, but as his eyes flicker to rose petal lips they are pressed into a thin line. Louis is confused by this strange phenomenon, and wonders about it as he sees the lips form words in the air. 

“Okay. Would you let me touch your face to see the damage inflicted?”

The voice sounds like smooth sandpaper, something that he had never thought to be possible.  
Louis feels something slide down his cheek, hot and tickling as it leaves a trail of dampness in its wake. 

“Please?” 

Another droplet of salty water comes rushing down, this one seemingly more keen to reach the bottom as it speeds down his cheek.

“I'm going to touch you now, okay?” 

An automatic response it seems, always nod when people slip an ‘okay' at the end of their sentences because they know what’s best, they know what to do. Louis nods, and watches stem like fingers reach ever so gently for his chin, pulling his head upright. A face comes sharply into focus as the figure leans in with burrowed eye brows, his eyes staring intently at Louis’ lips, which seems to be uncomfortably big on his face. As his jaw is tilted back gently by the feather like hands of this stranger, Louis feels the need to close his eyes, but he keeps them open and focused on the radiating force in front of him.

He wonders if the stranger can feel the lukewarm water dripping from his half lidded eyes on his fingers, and if he does, why he doesn't pull back sharply at the contact of something as personally formed and intimate as emotions. 

“Split lip”

The stranger pulls back, and Louis watches him, watches the way his lips (more like a _calycanthus occidentalis_ colour) curl down at the edges. 

It is strange when Louis talks, when he hears his voice, when he sees the effect it has on the people in his nearby proximity, when he sees the way his life is influencing another life for a split second. He doesn't like it but right now he speaks, softly.

“Thank you”

Because Louis understands what this boy has done. His mind is foggy and getting chillier by the second but he understands the way he was being lead away to safety from an intricate misunderstanding, by someone who shouldn’t have even cared in the first place. More tears slip past his cheek, the saltiness clinging to the corners of his mouth as he licks his lips.

The figure approaches cautiously again and speaks in a slow rumble.

“What is going on?”

Louis does it without thinking, feels himself straighten up, feels the way his hands reach into his pocket and feels the cuticle of the ripped leaf slide against his fingers as he pulls the two separate parts out. He holds each in one palm, and turns to look up at the figure, to see his reaction to this fragile injustice. 

He seems to loom over Louis like a tree, his attention focused on the patches of green lying on Louis’ skin. The breeze whistles softly, and he waits, his hands trembling as the leaf parts seem to burn holes right through his hands, but he aims to keep them as steady as he can because they deserve this solidity. 

The stranger does not speak, does not stir, does not seem to blink as often as he should, and yet he stands and he beholds the tragedy Louis cups in his hands and it feels like a mourning is taking place. With this stranger by his side, Louis traces his eyes over the ragged edge of where the leaf has been torn in two, and for a flicker of a moment he feels closer to this leaf then he’s ever felt to anything before. Unknowingly, they were mourning more than one thing during this desolate funeral. He feels as if he himself was being lowered down into the earth, enclosed in a tomb which moulded exactly to the curves of his body so that he could not move and his breathing falters. He looks up at the stranger. 

“They don’t understand” he whispers quietly, hoarsely, as if the stranger could possibly grasp what Louis meant. 

The figure looks back, his voice softening as he speaks out gently.

“Explain then”

The remark is almost like a plead, and the moment is lost. Louis looks at the boy and sees the way his gaze seems desperate to discern the meaning behind Louis’s words, ones that he cannot understand but wishes to no end that he could so wouldn’t be standing here with this beautiful boy being diminished to a remote and distant obscurity. He huffs like a child and shakes his head, feels some more water drip down to his chin, hanging there eternally like stalactites. 

Louis bring his hands up to his face, clutching at the skin there as if he were trying to root himself to some substantial place so he wouldn't go soaring away into an overwhelming poignancy which always seemed to be lurking by his side, ready to grab onto him to take him to another far off and unknown place. There’s warm water on his hands and he can’t stand himself for it.

“My name is Harry”

Louis looks up quickly, staring at the boy who has just given himself a name, the boy who has ventured to share a small part of his life and his significance with a complete stranger spontaneously. Harry gazes back at him, relishes in the glazed eyes and the button red nose of this boy. 

“Harry like _amaryllis_?”

Harry stares.

“Pardon?”

“You give yourself a name like a flower has its name given to it”

Louis hears a soft breath slip out of Harry’s parted lips.   
“I am Louis” 

And for a moment he sees himself from another perspective, the way his mouth utters out a word that is usually passed around in whispers, sees Harry take his name into his own mouth, biting down into it, savouring it on his tongue. 

There’s a pause.

“Louis like _lily_?” 

Harry is looking at him as if he’s a newly discovered supernova outshining all of the millions of luminous galaxies. 

“Quite so”

 

 

-

 

 

The dark clings behind the curtains, underneath the desk, behind the closed door, on top of the book shelf. The dark whispers and sings and could lull anyone to sleep as long as they listen very intently, listen to the lisps of smooth voices, feel the tendrils of black caress their broken bodies, breath it in like the purest form of oxygen only to never exhale again. 

Louis lies on his bed with arms outstretched and legs open wide, and he wonders why they never teach people how to walk the tight rope suspended on top of each building, the one that lost souls tread on at night, tittering on the edge of oblivion, forced to walk the plank by whispered threats conjured up in the head. Louis wonders why nobody mentions the feeling of having this lifeline press into the bottom of your sole as you put one foot in front of the other, watching light and darkness dance beneath you like lovers, why nobody mentions the feeling of being suspended in an alternate dimension, why nobody dares talk about the moment you watch the person who’s treading in front of you lose balance and tip off the edge almost beautifully as they arch in mid air and plunge down into the centre of the Earth. 

He wonders why the puppeteer controlling these lost souls finds so much pleasure in making their tied hands sway gracefully as they dance sickeningly on the tight rope, why he makes their death entrancing to watch as they dive into the inky darkness far below all of them. 

 

Louis closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and places the tip of his toes on the wobbling line beneath him for one more night. 

 

 

-

 

 

After the encounter with Harry that day, Louis had promised to meet up with him to discuss something important, something he was not aware of and that Harry did not want to elaborate on at that precise moment. He complied out of habit, although anything that forced him to veer off routine made him recoil slightly. It was better to stick with what was known, so that nothing bad happened. But Harry had spoken softly and had smiled, which was something that made Louis feel very satisfied as he noticed the way his curving lips shaped his features into a completely different canvas of expressions. He was convinced that Harry’s lips were meant solely for smiling. Therefore he abided to his request, and as he made his way down the stained street to where he hoped there would be a figure already waiting, he felt a fizzing feeling at the thought of being able to match new types of flower colours to Harry’s jutting, bottom lip. 

There was indeed a figure standing at the corner of the street, his back facing towards him as a long black coat hung from his broad shoulders, all the way down to his knees. Louis feels comforted by this familiarity, and quickens his last few steps. 

“Hello"

Harry jumps, turning around to face him.

“Hey there” he says, as he reaches to tug a hand through his curls. 

There is a moment of silence as Harry seems to avoid his gaze.

“I thought we could go have a cup of tea somewhere to be more at ease”

Louis frowns.

“I believe I am feeling quite at ease, although I also confess that this is rather odd”

Harry looks up sharply, and opens his mouth slightly.

“I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable—“

“I do not, I am simply stating that this is quite strange. We are two individual humans after all”

Louis’ looking around as he says this, taking in his surroundings, unaware of the way Harry steps away from the wall until he is brought out of his daze by his voice.

“Come on, I know a place just down the road”

Louis follows, firstly because he does not know this part of the city very well and mostly because Harry’s curls are swaying slightly with each step he takes and he seems to be hypnotised by this constant motion. 

Before long they're sitting in a small booth next to a window, and Louis is cupping a steaming mug of tea in his hands, the rivulets of smoke drifting up like spectres into the ceiling above. He watches them disappear, and wonders what it would feel like to be suspended in the air, to feel something so wonderful, only to have your existence be wiped out in mere seconds as you slither your way into  
oblivion. 

He does not dare take a sip of the soft brown liquid, for he knew it would scald his tongue.

Harry’s shifting his way into the booth across from him with his own mug and as he settles down he reaches behind his head to collect the hairs gone astray to put them into a bun. 

Louis blinks several times at this new phenomenon. 

“How have you been?” Harry asks, turning towards him as Louis continues to inspect the way Harry’s face comes sharply into focus when the hair that is usually drifting around him is pulled back and hidden. 

Louis leans down to peer into his mug, feeling the warm caress of steam against his cheeks as he is met with himself, peering up at him from an alternate universe. His reflection, similar in characteristics but so unlike him in existence. He watches as the person looking back blinks at the same time he does, sniffs at the same time he does, and feels slightly irritated by its behaviour. He even watches as its eyes narrow accusingly, and then he’s pulling back, meeting Harry’s intent gaze with one of his own.

“What did you want to tell me?”

Harry looks stumped for a moment, then he brings up the mug to lay lightly on his lips as he takes a hasty sip, only wincing slightly at the burn.

His sigh resonates loudly in the air between them as he places his mug down again and folds his arms in front of him.

“Listen Louis. The reason I want to talk to you has to do with what happened the other day at the park”

Louis tenses up a bit.

"I am aware of what happened, and I know what it lead up to as well. I believe there are precautions that must be taken now to insure your safety because people will be keeping an eye out for you”

Harry hasn't looked up from the table yet.

“And you are in a complex situation which can only be managed—“

Louis interrupts him.

“Can you look at me please?”

Harry looks up in surprise, noticing the way Louis’ got his hand curled tightly around the handle of the mug. 

They seem to be caught up in one another for a moment, until Harry starts speaking again slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Louis’.

“—by establishing the distance you have to keep from that particular park” he finishes. 

There’s a moment of silence as Harry takes another sip of his tea, this time ignoring the uncomfortable slide of heat on the inside of his mouth. 

“I don’t understand” Louis manages to say into the huge space between them. 

Harry clears his throat.

“Louis, I really think you should not go back to that park. It’s dangerous, and it looked like those people knew the area well. Overall something bad could happen to you and it isn't worth the risk”

His expression is serious as he says this, smile long gone, instead replaced by furrowed brows and a determined expression. 

For the first time that day, Louis takes a sip of his tea. The slow caress of warmth travels almost unnoticed in his throat until it reaches his stomach, pooling into it and weighing him down. 

“I always go to that park” he mumbles from where his lips are resting on the rim of the mug. 

Harry hums softly.

Louis bites onto his bottom lip.

“I didn't do anything”

Harry has got an unrecognisable expression on his face, and Louis feels his insides wither a bit.

“Some people think…differently about certain things”

“What do you think?”

Harry winces slightly at the question, and by now Louis has shrunk into himself. 

“It isn't about what I think Louis, it’s about—“

“You don’t want me going back because I am a threat to people” 

It slips out of Louis’ mouth in a rush of accusation and bitterness and Harry is so taken aback he nearly knocks the mug over. 

This is what happens when you step out of routine, it all goes irrevocably wrong.

But then Harry seems to be next to him instead of across from him and he's very close, although Louis can’t hear him properly above the ringing in his ears so he tries to breath and watches the movement of his lips ( _dianthus carophyllus_ ) shape words into the air. 

“—nowadays people act so harshly and they don’t stop to think about how they may be affecting other individuals and of course, you wouldn't be a threat to other people. Louis you of all people understand what it feels to be put in a strange situation and I am just trying to procure your safety because other people do not understand this.”

Harry’s looking at him with an almost desperate expression and Louis is inhaling a little bit better. 

“You believe me, yeah?”

They look at each other, both slightly breathless for two completely different reasons. 

Somewhere along the way, Louis had forgotten what exactly was being discussed and as Harry asks him with a gentle voice “So you won’t be going back?” he simply nods because he is tired and the unfamiliarity of the situation is like a constant itch at the back of his neck which he can’t seem to get rid off.

As Harry walks up to the till, Louis wraps a scarf around his neck and is about to set off down the road when he remembers he has no recollection as to where he is. Darkness has descended over the city, turning it into a strange imitation of what it is in the daylight, and silhouettes flicker on the wall as lights from within houses are turned on and off, a strange dance of floating lights.

Harry catches up with him, and before Louis can ask for directions he’s leading them away into the dark winding street. Only when Louis knows exactly where he is and where he is meant to go does Harry bid him farewell with a small smile, pausing for a moment before turning and walking away from whence they came. 

Louis watches as Harry slowly fades into the dark. 

 

 

-

 

 

That night, when Louis closes his eyes, he does not see a thin suspended rope stretching tightly across thousands of buildings with his feet planted upon it precariously, nor does he see arching bodies in midair. 

Louis sees nothing but the blackness behind his eyelids and he lies between the sheets, coaxed to sleep by the infinitesimal space of nullity. 

 

His heart races in his chest as he dodges a bicyclist, his feet finding their way back to their previous position as he races forwards, tempted to break into a run at any given moment. His shoes have already been soaked through by the morning dew, and once again his thrill is heightened by the prospect of walking around in an open space with no substantial obstruction in his way at this time of the day. A time that he has never been able to live in, as he would usually be dead to the world, curled up in bed after sleep would have failed to overtake him when it should have done hours before. To be outside this early, with the chilly air splaying itself across his face like an icy touch from milky fingers, to the dim white sun rays peeking out from behind a blanket of low lying clouds, was a privilege Louis had never been able to fully partake in, and now as he passes yet another morning worker with a paper cup in her hand and a newspaper in the other, he is basking in the glory of it. 

In the distance he can see yellow leaves scatter to the ground lazily. No wind is present to pull and push at them, to tease them to succumb to its power as it makes them fly up higher and higher only to drop them back down again. 

He sees the entrance of the park up ahead with absolutely no one in it when his view is suddenly blocked by an alarmingly large piece of grey and suddenly he’s colliding with something and his feet nearly slip from under him due to the dampness on the inside of his shoes when he feels a steady hand on his waist. He pulls back sharply, brushing his arm quickly over the other one as he looks up. 

Lemon grass eyes stare right back at him. 

Louis jumps back, putting a fluttering hand over his chest.

Harry has got his soft brown hair in a bun again, the quantity of it weighing the bun down a bit so that it’s drooping slightly. One of his hands is shoved deeply into the pocket of a long grey coat, whilst the other one is being held up slightly in front of him, just in case he needs to steady Louis once again. On his shoulder lies a dangling brown duffel bag, which seems to be almost empty considering nothing can be seen bulging out from the sides. 

“Hello Harry” Louis says, once he has been able to completely understand what had happened. His eyes flicker to the park behind the lanky figure.

Harry seems unsure for a moment, noticing the way Louis is bouncing on his feet and fidgeting almost impatiently. 

“Good morning Louis”

Louis gives him another quick glance over, pausing at his frayed, brown boots. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, excited by the prospect that Harry was witnessing the exact same surroundings as him, especially at this particular time in the morning.

“I'm heading off to work, I have an early shift in a bakery just round the corner from here” 

Louis seems to acknowledge the statement briefly, turning it over in his head once and tossing it to the side as he witnesses a flock of birds lift up from the trees at the sound of a particularly loud sneeze. It was incredible, how every little sound could have an affect on something else when the streets weren’t crowded with masses of boisterous life. 

“What are you doing up and about so early?” Harry ventures to say, hoping to grasp Louis’ attention from whatever has captivated it so profusely. 

“I slept a lot last night and woke up early, now I’m heading to the park because I’ve never been there so early to see the leaves and how they look like in the morning light” Louis rambles, trying to peek over Harry’s shoulder at the wide green space.

Nothing can be heard for a moment as the city behind them starts to yawn and blink its eyes open slowly to the weak morning sunlight. As Louis turns to focus his attention solely on Harry, he notices the way Harry has approached him almost cautiously, his two hands now dangling by his side.

“Louis, do you remember what we did yesterday?”

Louis pauses for a moment, perplexed as to why he was being asked such a ridiculous question.

“Of course”

Harry continues, his voice languid and gentle.

“Do you remember what we spoke about?”

Louis pauses. 

Harry’s looking at him intently and Louis lowers his eyes to gaze at his throat. 

He watches as a swallow rolls down it. 

“Louis, I mentioned how it wasn’t a good idea that you came back to this park”

Louis’ head shoots up as his nose wrinkles in confusion. 

“I always come here” he says, noticing the way Harry bows his head at the words. 

“I also mentioned how it could be quite dangerous for you”

“I always come here” he repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry looks up.

“Yes but—“

He stops mid sentence, choosing instead to chew on his bottom lip. 

Harry turns slightly, reaching up to slide his hand over his hair as he lets out a small sigh, and then he’s turning back, fixing Louis with a determined gaze.

“Okay, I have a preposition for you and you have to promise to listen and to take it into consideration”

Louis narrows his eyes.

“Do you promise?” Harry insists.

Louis is peering at Harry now, quite curious but also apprehensive of the situation. 

“Okay"

Harry raises a single eyebrow.

“Promise" he grumbles under his breath.

“I propose that we meet up at least twice a week to visit a new park every day just so you can see how many different ones there are. If, after having visited every single park in this city, you do not like any of them, you can come back to this one"

Louis’ about to open his mouth but Harry beats him to it.

“And I’ll invite you to a cup of tea on those occasions”

Louis closes his mouth again, and peers at Harry through inquisitive eyes. Harry stares right back, unwilling to look away from the shorter boy and so they are left standing there, gazing at one another, each with a determined expression on his face. 

Harry starts to shift slightly, absolutely certain that he had done the wrong thing and was about to apologies profusely when Louis speaks.

“Okay"

Harry blinks at him.

“There will be leaves?”

“Most certainly”

“Okay” he says once again.

And with that Louis wishes Harry good luck with his errands, turns his back to the park, and drifts slowly into the awakening organism that lies stretching out before him in a long and endless sequence of clamorous bits of life pushed together to make the unexplainable.

 

-

 

 

Life is insignificant. Whatever life may mean, whatever concept it stands for, Louis looks into the face of life and gets blown back miles away. Maybe it is because life doesn't want anybody looking at it too closely, close enough to see where it went wrong, how it has failed in the process of its creation, how it has given some too much, others too little, some none at all. 

Upon encountering life, Louis remembers to look at himself as something that has only ever been a translucent part of it, barely even there at all. He does not approach it willingly, does not wish to confront it, is glad to be hidden from it but he does not lie to himself. He does not wish to rip himself away from it completely, rather prefers to glide around it, like a moon orbiting a planet, always the same distance away, revolving in a dizzying array of circles. The blur of stars is comforting as it swims across his vision all day and night, and reminds him of his purpose, which ends up simply being an invisible speck on an invisible speck in the wide spectrum of existence. 

And as Louis does not wish to completely shield himself away from this monstrosity that peeks out of people continuously, he comes up with a truce. 

A pathway to the unfamiliar, leaves lay stretched out on his palm and represent the vastness of living. In one single organism, a world no one can even think to imagine is squeezed in between the folds of palisade cells and vascular bundles, a form of presence no one pays a flicker of attention to, all too busy revelling in the faults of the realities they lead with a falsified dignity. 

Louis cannot turn his head towards this colossal conception which warps minds and manufactures thoughts out of thin air. He cannot make sense of its value when it is too much for anybody to possibly behold without the knowledge of being absolutely infinitesimal. He cannot understand it.

 

He is fascinated by life because sometimes he fails to see it in himself. 

 

 

-

 

 

The first time they meet, a thick mist stretches gently over the city, as if it were tucking it into bed for a good nights sleep. Despite it being four in the afternoon, the air is laden with a bitter chill, one which has Louis nuzzling his face further into the long scarf wrapped around his neck. Of his two hands, only one is adorned with a red glove, whilst the other one goes uncovered and curled tightly by his side. He had looked, but had failed to find the location of the missing glove, whereupon he concluded that it had slipped into an alternate universe, and was by now holding hands with another lonesome glove, enjoying its much earned freedom. 

His wandering thoughts came to a stop as his eyes focused on a looming figure, and he quickly registered how fast he has seemed to travel from one distance to another without even realising it.

“Hello Louis”

Harry pipes up, his hair splaying freely on his head like a muddy puddle, his lips accentuating the words precisely as if he doesn’t want them to slip out of his mouth carelessly.

Today, Louis does not feel like answering and so he stands, with his face turned towards Harry’s and contemplates this simple remark. A greeting, it seems to be, brought on by what exactly? The need to say something? Possibly. Louis continues to look at Harry with an intent gaze, until the silence is broken by him clearing his milky throat.

“Should we go?” 

A question. One that must be answered, Louis supposes. He nods briefly, falling into step with long, spindly legs as they make their way across the stained pavement. 

It is a short distance to the place Harry has in mind, and amidst the attempts to start a conversation with the slightly shorter boy, they reach the place in no time, entering the red gates which lead to a large expanse of dark green. 

Louis pauses, taking in the scene before him with a fierce gaze, almost as if he is daring something to happen, to convince him that what he had agreed to do was entirely futile and was going to end up making things worse. 

Nothing does. 

Harry continues to walk in, only pausing when he notices Louis has not moved, and is instead looking down at his feet in befuddlement. 

“Louis?” 

As he retreats back a few steps, he notices what has captivated Louis’ attention so intently. There, in the small space between his feet, lies an acorn. Small and glistening with its little helmet on, there is no doubt that this little storage of nutrients seems to be communicating with him in a language Harry could never hope to understand. 

He watches as Louis bends down to pick up the small nut, and watches it settle itself into the dip of his hand, cushioned by the soft skin under it. 

This is when Harry feels something coil in his chest, nestling deeply in between his ribs and slithering around his lungs, constricting his breath as he watches this boy stare at the acorn, as if he were trying to _understand_ and Harry just continues to look at him, the thing in his chest clenches even tighter because something must have happened to have caused Louis to behold this small phenomenon with such a mystified expression. Harry does not know what it is, all he knows is that it makes the next breathe he takes ache as it pushes itself down forcefully into his tightened lungs. 

But then Louis is making his way towards him, with his gaze still focused on the acorn and upon reaching him he holds out his other hand, the one that isn't holding the nut, in front of him, letting it dangle in between them as if it had a life of its own. 

Harry is so desperate to keep up, so desperate to understand what is happening that he sometimes forget he has no idea after all. 

It is a while before Louis looks up, focusing on the figure in front of him, instead of on the burden in his hand. Harry’s expression is unrecognisable, but Louis does not pay any attention to this as he points to the hand dangling from Harry’s side.

“Harry, may I have your hand for a moment?” 

Harry raises his hand without thinking, watching the contrast between golden and pale skin as Louis cradles his outstretched hand in his own. The world seems to be holding its breath.

And then there’s a small solid item being pressed into his palm, and another hand is manoeuvring Harry’s finger to curl around it and Louis is keeping his hand around Harry’s as he looks up at him through thick eyelashes to face him with an almost satisfied expression. 

“This is for you, because it reminds me of you” he mumbles, unable to formulate any more words because how could he possibly describe the life that oozes out of Harry in waves constantly without having his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth?

The world seems to exhale loudly at that moment, the wind picks up, branches sway, the leaves scatter, Louis’ hair lifts up lazily and drops down again onto his forehead. Everything except Harry it seems, whose breath seems to be caught somewhere in his trachea, unable to move nor retreat and so stays there, stopping everything that could have ever happened from happening at that precise moment in time. 

Louis steps away, lets his hand drop off Harry’s slowly and smiles at him with small wrinkles protruding near his eyes. 

“Let’s go” and Harry knows they only arrived a few minutes ago but he nods and he follows the short wandering legs as they pass back through red coloured gates and he continues following them all the way back from where they came and he still seems to have them imprinted in the canvas of his mind when he lies down that night with something clasped in between his fingers and he does not understand but he knows that it is okay. 

 

 

-

 

 

Louis never kept track of time. To him it was meaningless, a simple concept manufactured by humans to explain the unexplainable, to bring a false comfort to those who cannot stand the eternity of days and months and years. He was used to the continuity that the days had to offer, a heavy waking up, where his body seemed to weigh an ocean as he sunk deeper into the mattress;the light of day peeking in through any cracks it could find; and the patch of dark sky which was sewn onto the surface of the heavens as evening approached. Time did not exist, it was simply a false creation, much like everything else that humans came into contact with. 

Therefore, it came as a great surprise to him when Harry manipulated the concept of time right in front of him, twisting and chewing the meaning of the words in his mouth as they slipped off his tongue lazily.

“It’s been a month of visiting different parks, therefore I feel compelled to ask which your favourite has been so far”

They’re walking down a narrow, muddy trail, under a canopy of dark leaves and overgrown foliage which loom above them like silhouettes of giant monsters. Louis knows he is pressing slightly into Harry, but he also knows that it is not fear which stimulates him to do so. 

Louis looks up at him, noticing the way Harry’s head is turned towards the berry shrubs that line the small path. He takes a moment to consider.

“The one with the carpet of red leaves”

Harry turns to look at him, nodding slightly as he recalls the way Louis’ jaw dropped in disbelief upon seeing the whole ground of the park littered with crimson foliage. It was as if they were stepping on cherries, Louis’ excitement being the sweetness of it all. 

“I liked the one with the flowers” Harry answers, lifting up a shaggy branch for Louis to pass under. 

Louis turns to look at him, his blue eyes thoughtful. 

“You understand flora, then?”

Harry pauses. 

“In what way?” 

Louis looks to the ground, almost muttering the next words.

“The way they live when you hold them? As in, the fact that you don’t have to step back to look upon the vastness of life and have it thrust upon you forcefully, you can simply hold a small part of it in the palm of your hand and you can value that beyond anything else?”

Louis turns to look at him inquisitively. 

It is moment like these where Harry wishes he could explain to Louis all the things he is completely unable to. 

“I believe so” he answers and as he turns to look straight ahead, he misses the glance Louis throws his way, one brimming with admiration and curiosity at the enigmatic existence of this particular human being, with his straggly hair and poppy coloured lips. 

Louis had never met someone like Harry before.

They start walking again under the orange glow of the sunset, the trees now spacing themselves out from one another, and once again Harry turns to look at him, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as he tries to suppress a grin from sprouting onto his features. 

“Fancy a cup of tea, then?”

 

 

-

 

 

There are times where guilt lies over the mind like a light film of dust, settling into place in all the crevices and slipping deeper into undiscovered territory as it clouds the vision with uncertainty. It cannot be blown away with a single gust of air, and so it stays there, ageing and playing games with everything you thought you understood. 

However, there are other times where guilt gets thrown carelessly onto you, like too many layers of blankets, muffling your voice from being heard, and as Louis fights under the ever crushing weight, he cannot help but feel the shame of it all enter through the pores of his skin and set his nerves on fire. 

He shouldn’t have done it, he knew he shouldn't have done it but he could not prevent it from happening either way. He had confronted life at its most beautiful, and had marred it with his own. Harry’s, whose existence flashed before his eyes in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations, sending his stomach tumbling and whirling, his mind imploding with a new perspective, all the life that seemed to radiate off Harry shooting across the skies like an unstoppable star and Louis had faced this phenomenon as if he knew what he was doing. Louis had planted a bit of himself onto another life and he could not stand himself for it. Because he does not have the right to take something so pure and unblemished, and stain it with his flaws, with his body, with whatever straps of solidity he represents as a human being. It was as if he had taken a red hot iron and pushed down upon an immaculate force, and he felt the burn himself, he felt the blisters form in his mind as it filled with pictures of green eyes and long brown hair and torn shoes and red ( _primrose_ , _ranunculus_ , _talinum_ ) lips. 

 

Louis has never met someone as alive as Harry before, and he cannot stand himself for any of it. 

 

 

-

 

 

It happens in a moment. Harry turning to him quickly and telling him that he’ll 'be right back' as he walks swiftly behind a group of towering trees, their branches laden with sunset coloured leaves. It’s a windy day, the chilly air seemingly intent on seeking out any bit of exposed skin, and Louis furrows his neck further into his scarf. 

He feels it at first. 

The very slight impact of something falling on him and sliding off, lighter than a feather and noiseless. He does not move, but the light touches continue announcing their presence as they flutter like wings on his shoulders. 

Then he looks up. 

The leaves are falling. Cascading down in waterfalls of yellow and red and orange and Louis’ breath catches in his throat as he lifts his head up to the sky only to be met with a disarray of foliage flying above him in dizzying circles and he’s got his hands outstretched beside him as he feels their caress on his icy fingers, the way they drift around him like snow and his mouth is parted in awe as he smells the dank, damp smell of the Earth around him, on himself, in the air and he’s filling his lungs to the brim with everything that is happening in this moment. The sky is falling down on his shoulders but it does not weigh him down, there is life settling down on his arms and hands but he feels like he is growing upwards, growing taller like the trees themselves and then he sees him, Harry, with his milky arms wrapped around the tree branch, his bicep bulging as he pulls it down and pushes it up and pulls it down and pushes it up again and again and again and it’s him, he is making it snow life and Louis understands. He sees Harry, and he understands the way he represents life, the way he embodies it. His inexplicable existence shines like a beacon of light on Louis and he feels himself grow as the leaves rain down on him like water and he can breathe everything around him and Harry is so alive and he is not afraid, Louis is not afraid of it for once in his lifetime. Harry holds the world in his hands and Louis is not frightened. 

The leaves continue to fall from the heavens, and as Louis begins to make his way towards the silhouette of the figure swaying underneath the tree, he can finally say that he understands, and maybe he always did. 

 

-

 

 

Louis feels the cold stems of the leaves dig into his hand as he keeps his arm behind his back, careful not to cause too much noise as he manoeuvres his way around bushes towards Harry, who has continued to walk after Louis had told him to not wait for him. He throws a quick glance behind his shoulder to eye the small bouquet of colours in his hands, and his smile widens as his pride is once again reinforced at having collected such beautiful organisms. 

Up ahead, Harry has stopped to look up at the sky, beholding the heavy, grey clouds skeptically. He turns around at a slight tap of his shoulder, and is met with Louis, whose red nose and chapped, thin lips peek out from beneath the blue scarf dangling from his neck. Before Harry can think to say anything, Louis is reaching from behind his back and holding a mass of colour in his outstretched hand. 

“I’ve been collecting some leaves for you that I found because they were all looking very pretty and I thought they would look nice in your hands because there is this leaf which is really red (this one over here) which is the colour of your lips but I have to confess there is also a tinge of _alstroemeria_ and I believe _gladiolus_ blended to make the particular hue of your bottom lip. Your upper lip is lighter and therefore I have associated it with _amarcrinum_ although I must admit _astilbe chinensis_ is also a close match and I would have to take a closer look to make a final statement. I found another leaf which is almost the colour of your eyes, and although it is very similar it isn’t quite because nothing can really match the colour of your eyes as they are something all together different but I have associated them in particular with _adiantum raddianum_. It was the closest shade I could find. “

Harry stares at Louis with parted lips and wide eyes as Louis nudges the bouquet of leaves further into his hands and continues talking enthusiastically. 

“I found this purple leaf on the pavement and it reminded me of your hair because the points of it are long and thin and even though your hair is like soil, it still reminds me of purple roots as they force their way deeper into the Earth.”

Harry had unconsciously taken a step closer towards the shorter boy, and had finally managed to take a hold of the bouquet of flowers as his breathing could be heard over the light mutter of Louis’ soft voice. Harry had never been so absolutely gone in his entire life. 

“—and I saw this brown leaf lying on its back and I do hope you do not look upon it as worthless and shrivelled because if you really do observe it, you notice how much strength and resilience it has, and to me that is the most important thing, because age does not have to define you, and age does not prove anything. Trees are hundreds of years old, and yet they still loom over us and protect us. You remind me of a tree sometimes, I look upon you and I am met with an unexplainable beauty—“ 

Harry breathes out loud and long, almost unable to refrain himself from letting out a small groan as he sees the blue eyed boy turn to look at him in surprise. Harry really cannot do this anymore, he simply is unable to, this has done it for him. By his life, he had tried but this has been the final straw. If he didn't do anything now, he would surely combust.

“Louis, may I please kiss you?” 

Pink lips pop open in shock and if someone were to define immobility as something substantial, that moment would be the example waiting to be used at the tip of their tongue. The concept of time failed to work its authority over the situation as the Milky Way seemed to turn into nothing more than a wisp of dark matter. From his peripheral vision, Harry sees the bouquet in his own hand tremble. 

And then Harry’s pressing the soft underside of the leaves to Louis’ skin as he cups his cheeks with his milky hands, tilting the small head towards him as hibiscus meets rose. 

It’s painfully gentle, Harry barely holding onto the soft skin in fear of somehow marring its beauty. Louis' got his eyes wide open, and upon feeling Harry’s soft hair tickle the side of his neck he breaths the whole atmosphere in through his nose, reaching out to steady himself slightly as he holds onto Harry’s arms for dear life. There’s a numbing sensation in his knees, and he’s sure there’s smoke coming out of his ears because he can swear that something in his body is _burning_. Louis’ lips are still parted, and Harry nuzzles in further until his bottom lip is in between Louis’ teeth and _Harry’s poppy coloured bottom lip is in between his teeth_. 

He breathes in sharply, this time through his mouth, and feels the passage of air be restricted by the presence of another, not just his own this time. It is the first time that Louis welcomes the suffocating feeling in his chest, and as it increases and increases till he is sure that his lungs have turned to dust and have coated his stomach with dark powder, he purses his lips slightly, feeling the drag of Harry’s bottom lip on his own as he pulls back every so slowly. 

He had not noticed that his eyes had closed, until he was met with the dark serenity behind his eyelids. Louis forces his eyes open, and the first thing he notices is the green. The green of the blades of grass, of leaves dangling off tree branches like acrobats, of newly grown sprouts of seeds, of seaweed swaying to the rhythm of the ocean, all this green in a pair of eyes. Louis blinks dazedly, and as he continues looking up into Harry’s face, (Harry, who still has his big hands cupping his cheeks) he can finally see in the uttermost detail. 

It takes him a minute. 

“ _Papaver orientale_ ” he whispers, and that is all it takes to have Harry bending down to press his lips against Louis’ once more.

 

Louis confronts life at its most beautiful, and he is unafraid. 

 

 

-

 

 

He had remembered telling Harry the sky was going to come crashing down a few minutes before it actually did. One moment they were making their way down a muddy trail, the next they were huddled together as rain poured down on them, Harry unsuccessfully trying to huddle Louis closer so that he could be slightly protected by part of his long coat. The heavy, grey clouds had darkened the world, and as they fought their way through the blur of water and chill, the distant light of a street lamp flickered up ahead. 

Harry had given up on trying to huddle Louis closer, and had instead opted for tugging him along swiftly by the hand. Louis could feel his hair plastered to his forehead, and could even fool himself into feeling his clumped eyelashes against his skin as he blinked to keep the rain out of his eyes. It was glorious, feeling cold droplets of water slither down his neck as he was reminded that when the sky opened up, the plants and trees and flowers reached up to try and take a hold of this beautiful phenomenon. 

Before long, Harry had managed to somehow force his keys into the rusted door knob, and had barged into his small flat, quickly pulling Louis in behind him whilst he toed off his shoes. 

The silence was punctured by the ineffable sound of rain pitter-pattering on hard ground as Harry closed the door, and Louis watches with curiosity whilst Harry rushes around the room, picking up discarded socks and empty mugs which balance precariously close to the edge of the bookcase.

Louis stands in the middle of the entry way, soaking wet and cold to the marrow, and as Harry begins to shake out his long hair, Louis dares take a step deeper into the small personal life of another individual. He holds his breath, not wanting to disrupt anything at all, and moves his head ever so slowly to look upon the small pictures on the wall, the peeling green paint, the little cactus shoved towards the back of a window sill. He is about to wander closer to the cactus, whom he has established to be a _mammillaria_ , when he feels a slight tug at his sleeves.

He feels as the heavy layer of wet material that sticks to him like a second skin is peeled off, and is hastily replaced with a checkered blanket, as a rumbling voice informs him that his jacket will be hung up to dry. Louis burrows further into the soft material draping off his shoulders like a cape, inhaling the damp and Earthy smell who could only belong to one person. 

And then suddenly the world is tilting as Louis looks up quickly, beholding once more the strewn books and clothing, the slight burn on the carpet accompanied by a mysterious looking orange stain, the dusty book case filled to the brim with frayed copies of ancient journals, the strange looking animal figurines which seem to march across the radiator triumphantly, the cupboard which is missing a drawer, the sunken brown couch, the pile of muddy shoes left carelessly in the corner of the entrance, and as pale, large feet come into view one more time, Louis is chuckling in disbelief, breathy laughs slipping out of his mouth as he stares and stares at the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the rickety windows. He’s staring at Harry now, watching as his amused grin transforms slowly into a look of concern, his green eyes furrowing as Louis continues to look around him with a manic smile on his face.

“Harry, you’re so alive” he breaths out, in between resonating laughs, watching as Harry takes a step closer uncertainly with his arms out before him.

Louis turns away, revolving in a circle and watching as everything that had once been concrete turns into a blurry mess. 

“Don't you see? We’re all so insignificant, we’re all so alive in our own heads that we don’t realise we do not matter at all, not one tiny bit. Yet when you are put face to face with life, you do not cower away, you step closer, you become life, you are life and it is so incredibly stupid because we all think we matter. We all think we matter!” 

By now Harry has taken a hold of Louis’ elbows, and is keeping him fairly still as Louis continues to smile around widely, letting out short bursts of hollow laughter every once in a while as he thinks about what he’s saying over and over again. 

"You are alive to me, but in the end everyone is completely inconsequential in the face of what we call existence. We think we matter because how could we not matter, all of what we are made of; all of our thoughts; our past experiences; our concerns; our beliefs, how could all those things possibly not matter? But they don’t, they really don't. The very essence of our being is meaningless, we are nothing, we are _nothing_ —“

Harry kisses him. Takes the words tumbling out of Louis’ mouths into his own, wrapping his tongue around them as he pulls Louis in closer by the waist. 

Louis is almost prepared this time (no, he will never be prepared for this) and as he feels the aura of another person amplifying itself on his very own skin, he gently places his small hands in Harry’s long, long hair, tucking a wandering strand behind his ear before curling his fingers around the ringlets of brown. 

They stay like that, two forms of what we know to be life meshed together to create something incomprehensible. 

And every time Louis thinks he’s going to pull away, Harry presses in again, tightening his grip on Louis’ waist, arms, cheeks, thighs, hair, pulling back only ever so slightly to press kiss upon kiss on his lips, as if he just cannot get enough of him. 

He does pull back in the end, only to stay with his long arms wrapped around Louis’ small body, as they take in the air that the world has to offer. Harry stares down at half lidded eyes obscuring planets, at swollen lips, and he brushes his fingers gently over the curve of skin beneath the sweep of the smaller boy’ eyelashes. 

“Louis, you will never understand how alive you are right here, right now”

Louis breaths in, leaning his face on Harry’s full, open palm. Harry ducks in closer, the next words travelling in a whispered statement which was too fragile to be left resonating out in the open.

“You will never understand how alive you make me feel”

 

The world turns, the moon winks at strangers, the stars flirt with the galaxies, the rings around Saturn laugh to themselves ,Pluto cries in the distance, and Louis and Harry hold on to one another, unknowingly creating something uncannily similar to life, but not quite, a small part of its vastness which can be valued beyond anything else. 

 

 

-

 

 

Louis embraces the embodiment of life, kisses him, speaks to him, watches him, is held by him, thinks about him, feels him, tastes him, hears him, and he is unafraid.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you, reader, have enjoyed this small creation of mine. I remember whilst I was writing this, I used to go outside to look at the leaves and I'd think about this Louis and how he would feel and I felt like it enabled me to appreciate my surroundings more. 
> 
> In a way, this work also helped me to express what I feel without addressing the emotions as my own. 
> 
> This is the first time I've done anything like this, and I realised that each of us have our own interpretations of different people, whether they are invented ways of thinking of them or their actual personality, and I think it is so important that these small characters are shared with others, because they are are all valid and quite beautiful, if I may say so myself. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, and if you have any questions at all, or if you'd like to inquire further into the meaning of a specific part of the story or a concept that you did not comprehend fully or that you want to contradict, then feel free to contact me by this email: pantalaimon.waters@hotmail.com and we will have a long, strongly-opinionated and philosophical conversation about leaves, life and Louis Tomlinson.


End file.
